What We Give Up
by Lileigh
Summary: Would Andy really give up her apartment?


**A/N:** _Just because I see Andy totally hedging her bets. After all, we can't have her completely committed to moving in with Luke, can we? _

Andy closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. As her spine pressed against the radiator, she felt an overwhelming peace steal over her. This felt so right; like home. Opening her eyes, Andy surveyed her surroundings. The bright sunlight fell through the windows to highlight the bare walls and then further onto the floor that was covered with neat stacks of boxes. Boxes filled with things she wasn't supposed to need anymore. Her mother's dishes, paintings an artist friend had given her in college, pretty lamps and lacy curtains. Bits and pieces of a life once wholly her own, now fractured in order to fit with another. These were things that didn't fit into her relationship with Luke.

Lost in her thoughts, Andy was startled to hear a knock. She peered through the peephole and her brows drew together. As she opened the door, Traci practically tumbled in on a wave of bags and boxes of her own.

"Dude, I am _so_ glad you didn't give up your apartment when you moved in with Luke."

"Trace, it wasn't intentional. I told you, I just got busy with work and everything and I forgot to give notice. What _is_ all this?"

"Some of my things that Dex doesn't like. I was thinking I could keep them here." Traci said with a hopeful note in her voice.

"I'm not keeping the apartment, Traci. All of this stuff is going…you know…wherever stuff goes when it's not wanted anymore." Andy waved her hand in the general vicinity of the world outside the building. "Then I'm giving notice to the landlord."

"Andy, it's been six weeks since you moved in with Luke. You are well into your second month of denial here. Not to mention your second month of double rent payments."

"I'm not paying Luke rent. I'm sharing the expenses."

"Whatever. All I'm saying is that moving forward does entail actual moving. What's holding you here?" Traci asked while piling her own things in a corner.

"I don't know." Andy gestured at the stacks of crated belongings. "Look at this. This is half the stuff I own. Most of my memories are packed into eighteen-inch square boxes. I'm really not sure what to do with that. Luke says we should decorate the house together. Buy new things and make a fresh start." Andy shook her head in confusion. "But isn't being a couple about bringing our lives together? Like you said - with the boyfriend-job-baby blender."

"Uh, yeah." Traci gestured to her own pile of ousted belongings. "Obviously, my theory is sound."

Slumping down on the floor beside Andy, Traci shoved a box with her foot and cringed at the chime it made. "Oops. What's in there?"

Andy shrugged. "Glasses, I guess."

Traci perked up. "Glasses, as in wine glasses?"

She and Andy exchanged glances.

"Give me fifteen minutes." Traci jumped up, grabbed her keys and was out the door.

Andy sighed and glumly nudged the box in question with her toe. These glasses had seen a lot, too. Might as well give them one last hoorah.

True to her word, Traci was back in a few minutes with a couple of bottles of wine. She opened the door to find Andy pulling stuff out of the boxes and bags Traci had spent the last two days packing. Andy froze, a purple feather boa wrapped around her neck.

"Um… I was looking for scissors? To open my box."

"Right." Traci nodded, amusement covering her face. "Here. I think I have…"

She handed Andy the wine and upended her purse on the floor. Sorting through the accumulated detritus, Traci pulled out the knife Jerry had given her. After slicing the tape, she rubbed her fingers over the shiny blade. "I guess this should go in a box too."

Andy watched a look of sadness pass across her friend's face. Another memory to be packed away and left behind. Was that what growing up and moving on meant? In order to begin a new phase in life did the ties to the old one need to be completely severed?

Andy heaved a sigh and then absently spat out a feather. "Being a mature adult sucks."

"Here, have some wine." Traci handed her a brimming glass. "It makes adulthood exponentially less sucky."

Andy regarded her doubtfully, but drank anyway.

The day grew late and the wine bottles grew empty. Somewhere along the way a radio was unpacked and dancing ensued. Feather boas led to hooker boots and homecoming crowns. Pretty soon everything was unpacked and sorted into orderly, if drunkenly askew, piles on the floor. Pictures were re-hung on their nails and dishes were placed back into cabinets. Eventually, exhaustion and alcohol won out and, after making the obligatory 'I'm staying at Traci's/I'm staying at Andy's' phone calls, the duo fell asleep in a pile of their combined pasts.

Waking up was not nearly as much fun.

After much groaning, careful head-holding and desperate water-drinking, the women sat on the kitchen counter and surveyed the evidence of the previous night's debauchery.

"In vino veritas." Traci said.

Andy sighed. "I guess the _truth_ is that there are some things in our past we aren't ready to let go of yet."

"Like this apartment?" Traci smiled brightly. "It wouldn't cost much a month if we split it."

Andy pursed her lips. "Is it mature to have a secret lair where we go to get away from our live-in boyfriends?"

"Absolutely. I mean, it would make us unhappy to give all of these things up and we would obviously take that out on the men who _made_ us give them up. So, essentially, we are protecting the health and well-being of our relationships." Traci sat up straight, proud of her logic.

A slow smile spread across Andy's face and she lifted her water glass in a toast. "Here's to Serving and Protecting."

Traci lifted her own glass. "And figuring out how to live with our choices."

Their heads turned simultaneously at a knock on the door. They laughed when they opened it, but all the same, helped Gail haul her baggage in to mix with theirs.


End file.
